Ritual
by Jimmy the Gothic Egg
Summary: Each culture is different, and each has a different way of burying their dead. [4 of 4]
1. Earth

_Earth_

It was hardly even a crowd.

Another two men had come to add to the hundreds. Once their city had been vibrant with life, men, women, children all living together as a community. Now the only women were elders and children just beginning to grow, and the only men were boys too young to even be called boys.

It was out of respect that they dressed like this, in their finest. They had no other event to wear these dresses to, no reason that they apply the makeup but for the face of death. The women indeed in the burial rite painted their faces white and dead. The dresses could rival royalty, if not for the coarse material. The boys did not paint their faces but wore the ceremonial garb.

The dead were also dressed. The two men's body had been scrubbed clean. Their robes were soft green embroidered with a darker color, symbols painted sewn in. There was no casket, but the ditches were dug. They were to be buried, taken back into the earth, purified by it. There was hope they would be born again, back into their arms, though there was doubt they would recognize their family members. It was no matter.

No one uttered a word as the men were lowered into the ground, the dirt brushed back over them. They closed their eyes and prayed, whether to the fates, to their gods, to the Avatar, it did not matter.

They awaited the next men coming home, and it would not be a happy reunion.


	2. Fire

_Fire_

The altar was built of a beautiful wood. It was almost black, but not quite, carved perfectly with symbols and runes. Across it was draped a gold and red blanket, the Fire Nation symbol embroidered largely across. There was nothing else on the altar, except one thing: a body.

Two children stood in the darkness of night, wide eyed and fearful as they watched the altar. They were quiet and still, as if afraid to disturb any part of the rite.

A man stood in front of them, their brother. His eyes were harsh and sad, giving off no comfort. The body on the altar was his mother, and he was the last adult in the family. His father had already been killed in the war, and all he had left were his siblings, too small to do any harm or good.

The man raised his fist above the altar, shedding no tears as fire spilt onto it. The body began to crackle and burn, and the children whimpered as they smelt it, hiding back in the darkness. The man turned away, but waited, waited until all that was left was ash.

He had a long wait.


	3. Water

_Water_

They gathered the fallen from the last siege, laying them out across the water's edge, watching their already ashen faces turn blue with the snow. Their warrior garb was ripped and burned, but no one bothered to change it. There were too many. There was too little time.

Carefully, as each healer proclaimed them dead, they were wrapped in a tarp and tied together. They brought boats out, taking two bodies at a time far away from the city's edge, into the depths of their ocean. The bodies were dropped at different places, the tarp keeping them securely in place, and the healers whispered a small blessing or prayer. Their spirits would explore the deep ocean for as long as they could, until they found the surface again. Then their spirit could find a way back to life and rejoin them as a new person, in a new life.

The healers continued their rounds, shaking their heads at each new body brought before them.

At this rate, there would be no room left in the oceans for the spirits to wander.


	4. Air

_Air_

The Air Nomads were peaceful people. They felt no need for fighting. They would rather enjoy other things in life: playing, meditating, enjoying themselves.

This is why the Air Nomads no longer existed.

Aang felt Gyatso's ashes in his hands, felt the smooth urn that held them, and closed his eyes. There was no one else to do this, no one else left. He was the last. But his teacher, the closest thing he'd had to a family, needed a better burial then being left as nothing more than bones surrounded by enemies. It was his duty to do this.

He unfolded his glider and kicked off the ground, floating above the mountains and valleys. The urn tipped in his hand, spraying ash across the rocks. The air swept them up, carrying them off. He watched the wind take it all, letting the urn drop into the land below. He waited until each last one was gone and turned back, letting his tears fall after them.

It was the only proper goodbye.


End file.
